What Next
The President all but declared martial law today. Peaceful protestors demanding justice, prayer groups, families, meet with tear gas and rubber bullets. Republicans are inciting violence against protesters.
Another unarmed Black man was killed in Louisville in the early hours of the morning. The National Guard fired on people breaking curfew. David McAtee was feeding people when he was killed.
I was feeling so wound up after doing some yoga therapy for CK that I just wasn’t feeling settled. I let myself sit and play my video game for a little while, Puck on my lap, until I feel tired.
We’re struggling with wanting to eat. I feel hungry now, past midnight, and I haven’t all day. CK is really finding it harder than usual. I’m learning to be creative with leftovers and frozen veggies. We still haven’t eaten out since March.
There’s still the pandemic, so we’re still isolating. Planning a third online art class for Saturday.
A friend’s roses are today’s photo. My goodness nature is so beautiful, it hurts in contrast to the racism.
Unstable Days
Having a day where there isn’t much to say. Despite feeling sad, I managed to get quite a few tasks done for the house and make us a pretty tasty dinner all from scratch, aside from dry pasta.
Dinner #67
Perhaps I’ll do something special Saturday for dinner 70.
I’m sad about the pandemic and despairing for the state of my country. I’m daily enraged by accounts of white people refusing to wear masks for the greater good and of cops assaulting people of color who don’t wear one while giving them out with smiles to whites people. I’m feel increasingly fearful and it isn’t misplaced.
Therapy Eve
The night before trauma therapy the day after Mother's Day; I feel really tired. Have had the heavy feeling much of the day, wading through tar pits in order to do any work, physical or mental.
It's all that and the USA death toll at nearly 80,000 and rising. Even as the rate slows, states reopen and keep the danger high.
Then there's this brave act:
I shared in an online community of adaptive teachers today that I may not return to teaching in person until there is a vaccine. I specialize in helping older adults; I can't encourage them to gather in even a small group! It's the first time I've shared it publicly. It's so sad; I miss seeing my students so much.
Pride
I have a hard time feeling proud of my accomplishments. I'm sure it's part of the deep feeling that I'm not worthy of care, but in the case of teaching related accomplishments it really hits hard.
I could be happy about bonuses and raises when I was in the tech industry. There were trackable evidence that I worked my ass off. This monetary reward for good behavior didn't flip me into shame and misery.
Teaching though, humans telling me that what I'm doing is life changing is hard. Hardest still, people giving me money and wanting to support me. It creates cognitive dissonance between the evidence of my value and worth against the message that I’m not worthy of care or protection, my needs are potentially dangerous, and my opinions are subject to derision.
In Retrospect
After feeling so terrible yesterday I had some insights I’m still integrating.
Trauma Brain "works" according to Childhood Logic. Here is what seems to happen:
Students send me beautiful notes and donations for teaching online and keeping community going. Related: contribute money for my training.
I meltdown in anxiety, shame, despair, and feeling like I’m a failure and a terrible person until I'm nauseous, can't eat, & get weepy.
Further compounding the misery, I can’t ask for help. Trauma Brain is constantly reminding me that asking for what I need is A) Dangerous physically or mentally or both, B) No One Will Help, because C) You’re not worthy of having you needs met.
And then comes despair.
Today was better. I discovered a great photo I got of a bee butt in the garden and I did a hard thing successfully, I even felt successful!
Same Old Rage
I felt tired today and finally took a nap after lunch. We played video games, each our own, we attempted to repair the greenhouse, and I did laundry.
I feel like I need to write something insightful. That's how I get stalled blogging. No poems, no idea what to say. A title totally stumps me.
I'm tired, my head hurts, I am deeply sad, I'm furious. I'm hurting, and very angry for my child self. I’m afraid for the world, for us. I’m sad CK won’t get an amazing 40th birthday like I had.
Out front yard still needs weed whacking, we so beyond mowing. The moments we’re all ready to do it, it starts pouring rain.
We’re getting better at working together again. We’re getting caught up. I never feel like I do enough.
Raindrops on plants in the garden have me joy today.
Revealed Self
Today I told students that teaching online is more about supporting my mental health than recovering the income I‘ve lost teaching for the City. It came up because students were asking about ways to pay me and if I’d contacted the Silver & Fit organization about getting registered with them and paid forth my classes.
I told them I hadn’t had the bandwidth for it, and this week I’ve been dealing with pharmacy stuff and had therapy. My cortisol brain can only manage so much in a day.
I told them to just come. To email me pictures of flowers in their yard or paper notes, which I treasure. These are all perfectly good payment options since teaching online is helping my mental health.
It felt highly vulnerable and like I was doing something wrong. Which probably means it was the right choice. This is a crappy method of figuring out what to do, but here I am!
Daring to reveal.
Vulnerable to be seen.
No more hidden Self.
Weight of Memories
Today felt hard.
I spent much of the morning arguing with my Mother's bullshit that decided to play on my head. Connecting with students lightened my mood a little, but I spent the rest of the day feeling exhausted.
I felt shame. The nagging feeling that I should be doing more with my time off from commuting. That we have it relatively easy and safe, but I'm weighed down by memories and the dread of the coronavirus.
Every other day I've noted the USA death toll on this month's art journal signature. I take the number from the CDC website. Today it me know that across two days nearly 5,500 people have died.
Still, there was the rain falling and Camillia flowers that drop off so perfectly before they decay. I spent some time under the eaves admiring them in the damp.
Spring rain hangs heavy.
Raindrops on fallen flowers.
Weight of memories.
Beneath Cherry Blossoms
Errands weren't easy before COVID19, now my anxiety spikes and I'm hypervigilant after going to the post office.
8,819 people have died in the past two days in the USA.
CK's meds got mishandled by one of the mail carriers yesterday. I channeled some of my anxiety into a fierce demand, documented in writing, and got them delivered to our porch today.
Getting angry, having it seen, really is hard. I feel like I'm the worst person, the ugliest stereotype of an angry white woman demanding her way.
I told several people today that I was sorry I was so angry, but my wife needs her medication. It was exhausting.
Then I cut down a bunch of overgrown bamboo. Trimmed a dozen poles to take to a friend tomorrow before admitting that my body was done.
There were several highlights today, besides my wife’s meds. Emptying our post office box yielded several checks and such lovely notes from students. I also got to stand under a flowing cherry, the kind with triple blossoms.
I’m always reminded of Issa’s haiku* when I see these. I feel like we’ve zoomed past trilliums and wood violets, I’m sad to have missed them, so am grateful to stand under them today.
My own Sakura/Issa inspired haiku:
Standing beneath trees,
Filled with heavy flowers.
What a time to live.
Here's Issa's haiku:
What a strange thing!
To be alive
Beneath cherry blossoms.
Not All Flowers
In my SAFE sessions I’ve developed a pattern that’s helpful; a kind of signal in the processing that I’m more in control of the memory. This also indicates I’m getting closer to installing it.
Today I got to that point with the current memoryI'm integrating. I start to step outside, seeing it instead of experiencing it directly. Then I can run it forwards and backwards, like a film. Like the most terrible home movie collection ever.
So I'm glad. I also have some ugly truths about my Mother to integrate. It was a good therapy session.
These dogwood bloom right breast my therapist's office. She's moving and next session it will be a whole new neighborhood. I'm happy I got to appreciate these today.
Dogwood bracht unfold.
Not all flowers have petals.
Tiny blooms revealed.